


My Deliverance

by twinsuns



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinsuns/pseuds/twinsuns





	1. Prologue

Prologue

_It would seem to some that the year one came of age would be exciting, exhilarating, and if not that than at least memorable. And though words fail to express many of the emotions I felt that year, I would have to say that I agree with them on that account._

It was one of those few times when I couldn't seem to grasp what was going on around me, or I'd just rejected it outright. I'd look around but everything would be blurred around the edges, bent as though I was looking through unshed tears; I'd hear but the sounds would become confused with my own broiling internal thoughts, and the declarations of the world around me would just turn into garbled noise and lose their meaning. It wasn't like I was living in a void, no, far from it. I was desensitized, numb--yet undeniably overwhelmed--and so was the majority of the wizarding community in Britain, come to that. But the agony of it all was that I recognized these facts. I struggled to break back to the surface of my life, to breath again after the suffocating events I was somehow surviving. To be the carefree seventeen-year old girl that I _should_ have been. I guess it could be said that I had a lot on my mind, fraught to sort out everything that was going on in those troubled times, just trying to live again.

Well, survival, in any case, can be considered a point-of-view. Even at the beginning there was hardly anyone who was untouched by the rising of the already infamous Dark Lord Voldemort. I've survived--no, lived through; survival indicates a sort of triumph, and there is no triumph when viewing the wake of one of the Death Eater raids--what seems the worst of it: Voldemort's primary ascension into power the summer before I attended my seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and then through his attempts on my own life as he discovered that muggleborns, no matter how much he detests them, have the same capabilities for wielding havoc against his regime as purebloods have.

And I am one of the lucky ones. Whole families have been wiped out in a single raid (and there are multiple raids a fortnight), various of our aurors have been targeted and picked off, no one knows for certain who they can trust as even Ministry officials have become connected with some Dark deed or another, and the Dark Mark has become both a highly-anticipated and highly-feared sight. To put it mildly, chaos and destruction reign. It has even come to the point that Londoners are scared to leave their homes. I never told my family about the troubles going on in the magical world, but my parents must have suspected when with every poorly disguised "gas explosion" or "freak accident" that took countless lives that summer, I became more and more withdrawn.

None of those deaths were by an accident, and it was driving me crazy.

I was fine when I was on my own, figuring that a lone witch wasn't much of a target, but I was tainted, seemingly beyond repair. My dreams, the few I remembered, were comprised almost entirely of desolate landscapes, dark and tattered streets where no one but the vile were found. They peered at me around chinks in smoldering curse-blasted buildings, spat at me through the torn remnants of curtains in shattered windows, leered at my horrified face when I spotted the Dark Mark over my home. Dementors would glide out to meet me as I stood transfixed staring at the glittering constellation in the sky; they would swoop down to steal my soul, and I would be swallowed up into their infernal darkness.

Gradually, though, I noticed that I became increasingly paranoid when I was out with my family; I fingered my wand and threw furtive glances over my shoulder so often that even Petunia, with her nose always high in the air, could not fail to miss them despite the aura of nonchalance I was trying to pull off. I was terrified that at any moment, some Death Eater was going to apparate in front of us, notice I was a muggle-born, and Avada my family without a moment's pause. Well, if not my family, then another one. And I would be powerless to stop it.

It wasn't long before I came to the conclusion that I was maturing much too rapidly for my tastes. I needed a way to escape reality, to vent out all my feelings to someone who could _understand_. Writing letters to my friends in the wizarding world helped some, to know it was the world outside my window that had gone insane and not myself, but the owls were few and far between, and besides, I felt guilty with loading my troubles up on them when they surely had plenty of their own.

But you know what they say: deliverance comes in many forms. Some people find it in drugs, alcohol, writing, music... my deliverance just happened to be in the form of a tousle-haired, bespectacled young man with considerable spirit, who put up a mask of confidence and a "fight, not flight" mentality even though he was really just as lost as I was. Though that "enemy of my enemy is my friend" mindset which caused me to break down mental walls I had built up to block him out seemed natural at the time, I find it ironic that while we were fighting together, leading together, bonding, grieving, just trying to live through it all together, neither of us really realized that we were tumbling down that challenging, imperfect and sometimes confusing path towards loving each other.

Needless to say, this quirky, lively, and somewhat mischievous character called James Potter is the main reason I've made it through the Dark Lord's rising, barely, when so many others have not. I have something to hold on to, a clinging hope that someday we will be able to put this war, this embarrassing and disgusting moment in magical history, behind us and set the world straight. I guess that's the brilliance of being young: to feel you can conquer anything. And, after much deliberation in my head at night when sleep failed or when I sat silent with my dearest friends before the crackling fire in Gryffindor's common room, I decided that the thought that a better life is possible despite the odds against it... that is what I am living for.

I leave Hogwarts forever tomorrow morning; tonight is my last in this hallowed place of magical learning, my home for the last seven years, and for some reason I can't bear to leave these halls without first leaving my mark. And though the starlight through my window is dim with only the aid of a waxing crescent moon and the light from my little candle nub is growing weaker, making me squint to read the ink I am laying upon this parchment, I am determined to lay out my thoughts--to explain just how I came to be the jaded though hopelessly romantic girl who is teetering on the edge of something unforgettable, being pressed forward by an inexplicable wind, a mere chance, and nearing the moment of my leap of faith with nothing but time holding me back. I am poised, ready... because by my reckoning, this time it's all or nothing.


	2. Chapter One: Lost in Thought

Chapter One: Lost in Thought

1.1

_I've come to the decision, after seventeen years of observation, that parents are funny creatures, and somewhat illogical at that. They are forever telling their children "It's time to grow up. We won't always be there for you, you know," but when said child is an adult, they rush to rein them in, to keep them at home. They also tell their children to come to them for help whenever they need it, but whenever their children do need help and seek it through their parents, they are chastised for not trying to solve their own problems. Because, once again, "We won't always be able to help you out". Well, I do suppose some parents, especially mine, have an excuse to be somewhat topsy-turvy with how they treat their children. In my parent's case, one daughter is only months off from getting married, and their youngest is of age in a society they don't understand, "abandoning" her parents to go stay at an inn with friends, _unsupervised_, for the few days she has left before disappearing off to her boarding school for seven months._

_Well, I do feel guilty about leaving when I barely get to see them, but what they don't understand is that my being gone is for their own good..._

I paused as I stared at the words I had hastily scribbled into my notebook, before titling the entry "August 30, 1977" and snapping the notebook closed. It was an old ratty thing I had owned since I was eleven, filled with idle sketches and my rather odd musings from over the years, something that I could always write in or flip through for a few smiles when I was feeling upset or was overcome with nostalgia. But it wasn't helping me today. With a sigh, I slipped it carefully into my trunk and attempted to banish my feelings of unease regarding current events.

It would not do to dwell on _those_, God knows.

In an attempt to keep my mind from wandering onto unpleasant subjects, I cast my eyes about my current form of transportation from my home in Portsmouth into London: the Knight Bus. The bus was rather full today, with every seat on each of the three levels occupied, but that only helped my situation, as the occupants were somewhat amusing to watch. I was on the lowest level, along with an aging warlock, two snoozing hags, a family of eleven, and a witch that had to be only a few years older than myself who was toting around a toddler.

I smiled at the raven-haired little girl, who was sitting on the floor by her mother's feet, singing a little song to herself. I could barely hear her high-pitched voice over the noise of the cars outside us, and could just make out the words to her song: "Patty cake, patty cake, baker man, bake me a cake as fast as you can..."

She seemed not to know anymore of the words and just kept repeating that same phrase to herself. As I watched her, the Knight Bus gave an almighty lurch which nearly made me fall off my seat, and stopped somewhere in Wales. The little girl and her mother walked quickly to the exit, and as she passed, the little girl's eyes caught mine. Awkwardly, I gave a little wave and she winked before her nose changed from a cute little button nose to a long and thin one, like mine. It stayed like that for only a moment before changing back, and then she was off the bus, only her playful laugh left behind. By the time I had righted myself enough to look out of the window for her, the Bus had rounded a corner and she was gone.

Thankfully though, I was next in the queue and didn't have to keep myself entertained much longer. The young conductor, who was wearing a freshly ironed purple uniform but still managed to look slightly rumpled, moved up slowly from the front of the bus to where I was seated somewhere around the middle. I couldn't help but notice how miraculously graceful he looked amidst the other passengers, who were all being jostled about by the jerky movements of the driver.

He gestured to me and I stood. " 'Ello, Miss..."

"Evans," I said, holding my hand out for him to shake. "Lily Evans."

He took my proffered hand and shook it before bracing his hand against the wall for a rather wild turn as the driver attempted to miss a mailbox. "Paul Shunpike, at your service. Where'll it be today, Miss Evans?"

"The Leaky Cauldron; that's in London," I said, clutching a candelabra affixed to the wall for dear life and willing the nauseous feeling in my stomach to disappear.

He grinned at me before shouting over his shoulder at the driver. "D'you 'ear that, Ern? The Leaky Cauldron, that's 'n London."

With a bang, the bus disappeared from the country lane it was winding down and immediately reappeared on Charring Cross Road. We almost ran right into a building before Ernie managed somehow to straighten us out. I squealed but Paul Shunpike didn't seem the least bit bothered; he simply bent down and lugged my trunk to the front of the bus. I followed shakily behind him and was more than happy to bid both Ernie and Paul a farewell at the door.

1.2

A few hours later found me ambling down Diagon Alley, fumbling with my purchases which consisted of fresh potions ingredients, a new set of robes, my new textbooks, a few colors of ink, three sheaves of parchment, and a nice set of quills. School shopping finished, I collapsed down at a table outside Florean Fortescues ice cream parlor, looking forward to a strawberry milk shake to ward away the summer heat.

As I waited for my order to be filled, I fingered the letter that I had received from my close friend Emmeline Vance only moments after stowing my stuff in my room, number seventeen, at the Leaky Cauldron. It was already rumpled from being read so much, and even though I told myself the words hadn't changed, I couldn't help but read them again.

_Lily,_

_Congratulations on making Head Girl! Thank God someone respectable is in charge this year--you get the arduous task of keeping the Marauders in line. I don't envy you that, but maybe if you spend all your energies keeping the Head Boy under control, Potter'll do the rest regarding his friends. Ha! Sorry, that won't happen for a thousand chocolate frog cards, but... you've still got my full support._

_Actually, it may not be that hard after all. Just tell him you'll date him if he does his job, and that'll straighten him out quick._

I groaned but still managed a smile, imagining Emmeline's laugh as she wrote those words. After pausing briefly and remembering all the bollocks she'd given me over the years about James chasing me, and how the whole situation was this huge joke amongst my classmates, I turned back to the more serious part of the letter.

_Well, if you've figured that my sending this letter to you means that I won't be able to make it in today like we had planned, you figured right. Unfortunately, I'm being held up at home. Don't worry, I'm all right, but I can't explain it to you now, so you'll just have to wait until I see you. I'm hoping that I can get out tomorrow morning, but if not I'll just have to see you on the train the day afterward._

_Don't worry about me. Let me write it again because I know what's probably going through your head: don't worry._

_I haven't heard from Alice lately, have you? Last I heard, she had booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron for tomorrow night so her voyage into King's Cross would be shorter. Frank got into a spot of trouble, her letter told me, so I'm not sure if she's able to keep those plans. Anyhow, I hope she can make it, because I hate the thought of leaving you all alone! I'm sorry._

_But hey, I'm sure you can find something to amuse your time with. If you're not scribbling away in that notebook of yours, I'm sure that you'll run into someone we know._

_And if those someone's happen to be a certain double-act everyone knows and loves, try not to kill them, would you? Keep in mind, dear, that besides the fact they're excellent duelers (as they are unfortunately so keen on demonstrating in the halls) and we'll need them to watch our backs sooner or later, they're also a faithful form of entertainment._

_And God knows we all need a few good laughs._

_Be safe, and I'll make it up to you,_

_Emmeline_

Words can't explain the fear that runs through the mind after a letter like that, even with all her assurances of being safe. If she was safe, then what was causing her to hope she could "get out"? Get out of where? It was frustrating, the unknown, and scary.

Also, something had happened to Frank? Frank was a friend of mine not to mention Alice's "one and only". Surely Auror _training_ didn't include fighting Death Eaters on the front lines. But I couldn't kid myself; I had seen what Death Eaters were capable of first hand. And Emmeline's claim about needing someone to watch our backs wasn't too far from the truth. Neither was her statement about needing a few laughs. Unfortunately.

"The world isn't a safe place anymore, Lily," I murmured aloud. Feeling thoroughly depressed, I left the ice cream parlor without ever taking a sip of my float. I dropped off my purchases at my room, and went looking for something to keep my mind off things.

1.3

Nighttime came swiftly; I hardly expected it and then it was upon me. But with nighttime, I found, brought peace. Around nine o'clock, the storeowners closed up shop, the harried and bustling families departed, and the alley was, for the first time that day, quiet. Now and then, a couple would stroll up the lane and into a restaurant, friends that were old enough to rent rooms at the inn were walking in packs, enjoying each others company, and the general mood felt throughout the alley was contentment.

I had taken up post in a small grassy lot between Flourish and Blotts bookstore and Scribbulus Everchanging Ink. It was a simple matter to conjure a blanket large enough to sprawl on, and from my dark spot on the lawn I could watch the goings-on in the courtyard outside the ice cream parlor. I spotted several people from Hogwarts, but there was no sign of Alice, Frank, or Emmeline. I did, however, spy Sirius Black and James Potter walk by a few times and eventually order an ice cream. What seemed odd to me, though, was that they didn't eat their desserts with the rest of the crowd; they instead perched themselves on the low, decorative stonewall of the courtyard and talked quietly away from the rest.

Soon, many of the customers departed as it was growing quite late, and I took my leave inside the pub for a spot of supper.

1.4

I was sitting alone at the bar waiting to be served and having quite an interesting albeit irregular conversation with Tom about enchanted muggle devices, who was surprisingly quite knowledgeable about such things, when an energetic shout from across the room broke me off mid-sentence.

"Hey, Evans!" said the voice, and I turned to find fellow seventh year Edgar Bones, a Hufflepuff, standing beside a circular booth crowded with barely touched meals and butterbeer glasses, gesturing for me to come and join his group. "His group" consisted of his fifth year sister Amelia, James Potter, Sirius Black, and a stocky brunette bloke I didn't know the name of but I thought to be in Ravenclaw. They looked lively enough, all but one. James was sitting quietly amongst the jokes, chewing slowly on his food in thought until Sirius nudged him and he plastered a false smile on his face. Briefly, I wondered what was wrong, but Edgar called out to me again.

"Lily, don't be a stranger!" He smiled at me and again beckoned me over.

I turned back to Tom, excused myself, and, butterbeer in hand, headed shyly over to their table. "I don't want to intrude..."

"Oh, nonsense," said Edgar, amused, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to sit between himself and that Ravenclaw fellow, who's name, I learned, was Broderick Helm.

Through the dim candlelight and pipe-smoke choked air of the bar I could see James eyeing me strangely, giving me an odd look almost like he resented me being there with his friends. But then Tom delivered my meal and the moment passed; James seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in when I responded to Broderick's stab at conversation and answered how my summer had been.

I shrugged and used my fork to play with the mashed potatoes on my plate, which I suddenly didn't feel like eating. "Oh... it was as good as could be expected, I guess, what with someone trying to spear my heart out and eat it raw."

The others, even young Amelia, made some sort of noise of agreement as they ate their food, but as per usual, Sirius had to put in his opinion. His stormy eyes found mine across the table and he shook his shaggy head slightly as he answered gruffly. "You have no idea."

"I don't?" I asked, feeling slightly put out that he would presume to know what I was going through. But, ironically, it was James who kept my anger at bay.

"No," said he, his voice taught with an emotion that I'd never thought I'd hear. Was that humility? Regret? He kept his eyes on his plate and suddenly pushed it away from himself with such force that his peas went rolling around the table. "It was rough."

Finally he looked up at me and I could sense that he was _daring _me to ask just how it had been rough. I kept my silence as Sirius said, "I agree with you there mate," and laid down his fork. "I've lost my appetite."

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling like an idiot.

"Don't worry," said Edgar, running a finger pensively around the edge of his glass of butterbeer. "It isn't you."

After a few seconds of pensive silence, Sirius told a joke and broke the tension at the table. We managed to finish our meal with light spirits, surprisingly; it seemed as though the others were far more resilient than I. While I tended to dwell on the upsetting matters at hand, they seemed to accept them--for the time being--and let them pass from the present so that the unpleasant thoughts couldn't take root and control their lives. I eagerly followed their example and brought my attention to the here and now.

Rather, I tried to.

Eventually the pub grew quiet and its patrons disappeared either out the door into the gray night of muggle London or up into their allotted rooms. Broderick, Edgar, and Amelia, sighing with weariness about their day's tiresome travels, headed for bed and left me awkwardly alone with Sirius, James, and most of a bottle of firewhiskey to share.

The three of us sat nursing our drinks in semi-comfortable silence for a long while. I mostly contented myself with my own thoughts, but every now and then an amusing joke or story by one of the others brought me back into reality. Finally, I couldn't hold my tongue any longer and sought out a way to appropriately ask the question that had been gnawing at me all day. I chewed the inside of my lip as Sirius poured each of us a fresh drink, and finally worked up enough courage to just out with it.

"So... I heard that Frank Longbottom got in a spot of trouble the other day," I said casually.

"Oh yeah?" asked James, nonchalantly pouring a bit of firewhiskey into his butterbeer. But his air of unconcern didn't fool me; I saw his eyes quickly flick to Sirius, and I knew then that they both knew _exactly_ what it was I wanted to know.

I stumbled on in my request. "I was wondering if you know anything about that," I finished lamely, scratching at a burn in the tabletop.

"Ah, and why would that interest a lass such as yourself?" asked Sirius, who was sitting with his chin resting in his hand so that his face was tilted towards mine.

I almost glared at him and spat something to the effect of wondering why I needed a reason to find out about my friend, when the possibility occurred to me that I actually might have to have a reason. I sighed. "Because he's my friend and I've known him for going-on seven years, because one of my best friends claims to be in love with him, and because I care about his wellbeing. That good enough?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows at the almost-vehemence in my voice. "Touchy," he muttered, glancing at James. "What do you think? Think she could hex us 'til she gets it out of us?"

James cracked a smile. "I think she could _try_."

"Well then... if it's okay with you?"

James seemed to consider, and answered slowly, "Suits me. Oh, but no specifics."

"No, eh? Alright."

I tried to ignore my annoyance as they spoke about me as though I wasn't there, but before it had really flamed, Sirius had already turned back to me. It seemed as though the deal, whatever that was, was settled. James' face was unreadable and Sirius stared intently at me over laced fingers.

"Okay Miss Evans," he drawled. "We'll tell you what you want to know."

"Brilliant," I said quickly, before catching myself and raising my eyebrows severely at him. "I'm so glad I have your permission to hear this information."

Sirius ignored me and stood. He stretched and peered in a would-be casual way around the pub. James followed suit before scattering a few sickles on the table and heading off for the stairs. I remained, stubbornly, seated.

"And where do you think you're going?" I asked.

James paused at the threshold of the stairs and cocked his head at me. "You do trust us, don't you?"

"Well... yes, but--"

Sirius laughed and pulled me out of my seat. "But nothing. We can't just talk about it here, can we?" he asked as we followed James up the stairs, Sirius still guiding me by the arm.

Rolling my eyes, I decided that if they wanted to treat me like a child, then I could certainly act like one. "And why not?"

"Christ, Evans. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

I jerked out of Sirius' grasp and caught up with James just as he unlocked the door to room number seven on the second floor. Sirius' laugh and response followed me up the stairs. "Privacy, that's why."

I followed James into their room and found it comfortably unorganized, what with school supplies stacked haphazardly on the floor and articles of clothing draped in a boyish fashion on the furniture. A slight city haze made its way through the grimy window at the foot of one of the beds, and the dim nature of the room seemed oddly appropriate for the subject of discussion. I chose the bed closest to the window to sink onto, and as I made myself comfortable on the rumpled coverlet, James smiled at me and that familiar hint of jest lit in his eyes.

"See, Evans," he said, a hint of his old arrogance creeping into his words. "I always knew I'd get you back to my place one day."

I rolled my eyes and didn't deign to respond. Instead I pulled my legs so I was sitting cross-legged with my back to the wall, and waited for Sirius, who was taking an oddly long time to get up the stairs. I could feel James' amused gaze on my face and could almost _hear_ his grin. Finally it got to be too much.

"Oh... shut up," I muttered, and sent him a glare. Seemingly satisfied, he crossed his arms and leaned up against the window. Sirius finally entered the room, locked the door behind himself, and flopped down on the other bed.

"You're such a gentleman James, I'm _so_ proud," said Sirius in a comical tone that I assumed was supposed to be motherly. "I just would have made her sit on the floor."

I snorted. "The day Potter acts like a gentleman toward me is the day I'll date him."

Sirius glanced knowingly at James before throwing me a wicked smile. "Is that a promise?"

I glared at both of them. "Erm, no," I said shortly.

James coughed loudly and changed the subject. "So, Evans. You wanted to know what happened to Frank?" he asked in a noncommittal voice. I nodded. "Padfoot, care to do the honors? And toss me that bottle. If I have to listen to this story again I want to be properly sloshed."

"That would be splendid," said Sirius. He shook his hair out of his face and grimaced. "...if I had the bottle. Hold on. We forgot the drinks."

He stood, concentrated, and disapparated with a loud _crack_.

"So, L--Evans, what brings you to the Leaky Cauldron alone?" asked James. He turned to stare out over the city, and I shrugged.

"Well, I had plans to meet Emmeline, Alice, and Frank, but they all got...delayed."

He nodded in understanding, despite how cryptic my statement really was.

"What about you then?" I asked.

"Oh..." he said, and I got the impression he was stalling, trying to think of a good lie for an answer he didn't want me to know. His face went cautiously blank as he stammered out a response. "I, um... well, Sirius and I are here because--"

A loud _crack_ signaling the return of Sirius saved James from his choking words, and he beamed at his friend. "Thanks, mate," he said, reaching for the bottle. Sirius dodged him and took a swig before handing it over and returning to his spot on the bed.

"You were saying?" I prompted Sirius, gesturing with my hands for him to continue.

"Oh, right. Frank," he said, leaning back into the shadows of the room. He looked like a giant smear of color against the lackluster wall behind him, a quiet vivacity juxtaposed against the bereavement around him, and I suddenly understood why James was drawn to him. He cleared his throat and began.

"Here's the short of it: some night a few weeks ago, the Ministry received a report that a gang of Death Eaters were planning to attack two aurors, a husband and wife, at their home--"

"Who warned them?" I demanded, alarmed. I stiffened. "Which aurors were in trouble?"

Sirius sighed. "It was an anonymous warning. Settle down and be quiet if you want to hear the rest," he said, giving me a sharp look.

"But--" I began.

"No buts," said James, still staring out of the window. The twinkling city lights reflecting serenely off his glasses calmed me somewhat, and after a pause I decided to comply with their request.

I sighed. "Fine."

"Thanks Prongs," grinned Sirius. "Finally, some one's been able to shut her up."

I glared at him and he looked delighted.

"Er.. let's get this over with Sirius," said James, turning away from the window with a prolonged look and collapsing onto the ground near his trunk, where he promptly conjured a set of exploding snap cards and began shuffling them absentmindedly .

"Right. So, the Ministry gets a tip about the Death Eaters and they send Frank and his partner to the aurors' house to warn them. And when--"

"How did you find out about this?"

"Evans!"

"Sorry."

Sirius swiped a lock of hair out of his eyes and gazed at me steadily. "Are you quite finished?"

"Yes," I said, barely managing to hide a smile at his temper but at the same time knowing somehow that this wasn't exactly the time to mess around.

"Good."

I saw James hastily cover a grin as his impatient friend continued, and I felt relieved that he seemed to look a little livelier than he had previously. It was possibly a side effect of the firewhiskey, or maybe a combination of his friend's presence and my own. James' eyes caught mine and we both rapidly turned away from each other, embarrassed to be caught looking. I turned my attention back to Sirius, who didn't seem to notice the blush creeping across my face.

"...and when Frank and his partner showed up at the aurors' home," Sirius was saying, "the place had been ransacked. A few stragglers, who had been rifling through the aurors' possessions, jumped Frank and his partner as they arrived. Frank's partner died and Frank, as the only remaining target, got messed up pretty badly. He was in St. Mungos for a while and released a few days ago. Turned out the whole thing, even the tip, was an ambush."

My skin crawled and I felt bile threatening to choke me. "And... the aurors?" I asked shakily.

"Tortured and killed," said James, all signs of cheerfulness suddenly erased. With an angry slash of his wand, he vanished the cards before taking a deep breath and pounding his fisted left hand onto the top of his trunk. "I could kill those sons of bitches for doing it."

"My thoughts exactly," finished Sirius. "The Ministry'll sort it out though, and those responsible will be sent to Azkaban."

"That's not good enough for those bastards!"

Though I was inclined to agree, I flinched away from his anger and even Sirius recoiled. As James spoke, the window shook in its pane, the mirror wailed and rattled before crashing to the floor, and the empty firewhiskey bottle in his right hand exploded. Only when I gasped in surprise did he seem to remember he wasn't alone, and he promptly took a deep breath, repaired the damage from his emotions, and gingerly set the bottle onto the top of his trunk. He muttered an apology and I felt the need to say something, to say that I understood the hurt and anger of hearing that decent people were killed trying to do what was right, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

Contrary to what I originally thought, both of them seemed to be very affected by this war, and I wondered what they had been through recently. Certainly an experience much worse than my own, for them to act like this. I felt nauseated, and I apologized for bringing up the topic. They both shrugged it off, but as I left and prepared for what I was certain was going to be a horrible night of sleep, I damned my insatiable curiosity.

1.5

I jerked awake the next morning, feeling as though I hadn't slept a wink. I laid in bed a moment staring at the way the virgin rays of the sun tentatively bent their way around the window curtains, illuminating the dust particles in the air where they collided, and creating gray areas which melded the difficult night passed with the promise of a better morning. With half-lidded eyes I stumbled out of bed and pushed the curtains open and out of my view; it seemed like the prior day had been it as far as fair weather was concerned--the skies today were layered with dark clouds of varying thickness, though here and there a sunbeam had managed to push its way through the building moisture and shine down upon London and Diagon Alley. The image gave me hope and I clung greedily to it.

I donned some of my more comfortable muggle clothing and grabbed a cloak just in case before leaving my room. I had just resigned myself to either breakfasting alone or seeking out the occupants of room number seven for company, neither option which really appealed to me in my present mood, when a loud squeal from behind me startled me so badly that I forgot what I was thinking about, and before I knew it Emmeline Vance had grabbed me into a lung-crushing hug.

"Lily!" she cried, releasing me and holding me at an arms length away so she could study me. "Lily, it's so good to see you! What're you doing awake so early? It's only seven--I wanted to surprise you!"

I smiled into the brown eyes of my longest-time friend. "Is that what time it is? I couldn't sleep."

I grabbed a handle of her trunk and together we lugged it up to the third floor, chatting merrily, and dumped it in my--our--room on the floor at the foot of her bed. Then we apparated out to Diagon Alley and set out to enjoy the last freedom we would have before school started the next day.

"So what did you find to do yesterday?" Emmeline asked as she finished off a toffee she had produced out of the pockets of the dark blue robes she was rather keen on wearing.

I tossed a look at her. She didn't look bad--she was thinner than I was used to, and she had slight worry lines around her finely chiseled face, some scrapes, but other than that looked hearty. As per usual, her moderately long dark hair was pulled away from her face, and she looked relieved to see that no harm had found me.

"Oh... not much," I answered with a shrug. "I ran into Edgar Bones and his little sister Amelia, Edgar's Ravenclaw friend Broderick Helm, Sirius Black, and James Potter at dinner yesterday."

"Ah, I'm sure _that_ was interesting," she said, waggling her eyebrows at me.

I snorted. "'Interesting' is an understatement," I sent her a sidelong glance. "They, ah, told me what happened to Frank."

She looked surprised. "I'm amazed you got them to talk about it."

"Me too, and I thought it was horrib--hang on. You know?"

She sighed and looked down at her feet. "Guilty as charged."

"How does everyone know everything but me?" I wailed, looking up into the sky as I spoke as though demanding an answer from the cosmos.

Emmeline rolled her eyes and summoned a _Daily Prophet_ from a trash bin nearby. "The paper, if you'd prefer to call it that. Seems more like a rumor mill to me though," she said. Her dark eyes scanned the headlines and she thumbed in a few pages. "See? 'Young Boy Accused of Murdering Father!' 'Dark Mark Incantation Known? Look inside.' I wouldn't waste my time if I were you."

And without another word she vanished it.

"Why d'you read it then?" I demanded hotly, feeling stupid that I had never bothered with a subscription.

"I had nothing better to do." She paused, and then pulled me off to a secluded corner of the nearest shop, which happened to be Gambol and Japes Joke Shop. There were enough laughing and screaming children in the shop to keep us from being overheard, and again the need for secrecy nearly overwhelmed me.

"It really wasn't that bad, was it?" I asked nervously, and we both knew I was referring to what she had just been through. Whatever that was.

She squeezed her eyes shut and vigorously shook her head, and I wrapped her into another tight hug. I let her cry on me for a few moments before she withdrew, sniffing and wiping at her eyes.

"No.. no it wasn't _completely_ awful. For me," she said, pulling herself up to sit on a spare barrel of dungbombs. I dragged another barrel closer to her own and perched myself on it before taking one of her hands in mine.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I couldn't help but notice the uncanny way her eyes flickered around the store, like she was constantly on her guard. It brought tears to my eyes as she involuntarily jerked away from the laugh of a young boy who was testing a joke item near her, and I suddenly realized how utterly out of place the two of us were. It was unbearable and I just wanted to grab Emmeline and pull her out of the shop before we smothered all of the remaining embers of happiness from those innocents that were our future.

But... I didn't scream or throw a fit. I sat very still and waited from Emmeline to answer, suddenly hoping that Sirius or James would pop out from behind the pay counter and announce that everything happening lately had been a royally planned joke, a fabrication.

This all went through my head in a second as Emmeline composed herself. "Well, I told you I'd tell you, didn't I?" she said, trying to sound cheerful. But the dark rings under her eyes and the muskiness of her voice did nothing to help her illusion of normalcy.

"Emmeline, if you don't want to--"

"No, it's fine," she said, taking a deep breath. "Where to begin?" Suddenly she bit out an unnerving laugh, grimaced, and sobered. "I guess the beginning..."

"The night before last I had just finished packing and I was making Da and I some supper, when I looked out of the kitchen window and saw a... a duel or raid or something going on outside, across the street at the Lawrence house. I could tell right away that the attackers were Death Eaters because of their long black cloak and masks, and I knew it wasn't bloody well going to be a fair fight. And it wasn't--many streamers of curses, some green and purple but no red, were being fired into the house, and only one color was coming back out: green."

She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. Her voice was low and flat, and I had to lean in to hear what she was saying.

"See, Mr. Lawrence is--was--a pureblood who married a muggle. They had a three-year-old, little Laura, a half-blood. And I guess the You-Know-Who didn't like that. Anyway, when the Death Eaters blew the walls of the house in it attracted a lot of attention, both muggles and wizards. Everything went crazy after they killed Mr. Lawrence and sent up the Dark Mark. My Da ran outside to help, but he was just a lone wizard and not even an auror. Not too much he could do. He told me to stay in the house.

"I had my wand but... I was numb. I just stared out of the window as my front yard became a war zone; you should see it now. My da banded with a few other wizards until the sides were pretty much even, and I just stood there until..."

She closed her eyes again and took another breath, and when she began again her voice was shaking. "Until I saw one Death Eater Avada little Laura. She was reaching out for her dead papa and then, whoosh, snuffed out."

By this time tears were streaming down both our faces, but she wasn't yet done. I had a sudden mental image of the adorable girl from the night bus imitating my facial features with painstaking accuracy before falling to the floor amidst a green light. I shivered and thankfully Emmeline continued.

"That's when I screamed, that's the first time I did anything. I ran across the street and I... I _killed_ that son of a bitch."

It was like the dam had broken, and tears of empathy poured down my cheeks. "Oh, Emmeline. I'm _so_ sorry it came to that."

She crossed her arms and sniffed. "The bastard deserved it. Anyway, I couldn't come yesterday because I was in processing."

"Processing?" I asked blankly. "For what?"

"My hearing next month. I used an unforgivable, Lily. I'm a murderer."

Her statement hung in the air for a moment as I sat in shocked silence. It hardly seemed to me like killing a Death Eater could be considered a _crime_. After all, wasn't the Ministry hunting them down? I voiced these thoughts to her, and she smiled grimly.

"That's why it's only a hearing, not a trial. At the worst, I could get expelled. That's all."

"At worst!" I exclaimed, wringing my hands together. "But, that'd be horrible..."

Emmeline shrugged before squeezing my hand. "When I said don't worry about me, I meant it. Da's representing me; I'll be fine. I did learn one thing though," she stated as she pushed herself off of the barrel and led me outside.

By now the clouds had broken and existed only in scattered clumps, dotting the skyline. The breeze was still slightly chill and I got goose bumps up my arms as it hit me. Suddenly everything appeared in a different light as though viewed through twisted logic and it made me dizzy: friends could be murderers, troublemakers could be positive influences. The untouchable could be touched.

I closed my eyes and flashes of my own scarring experiences flew before me: a gang of Death Eaters parading in downtown Portsmouth, wands drawn and using them to levitate helpless muggles for sport, to destroy property, to torture half-bloods and muggleborns like myself, to kill anyone who stood in their way. Bright curses popped before my eyes, and I heard the dark silhouette of a Death Eater laugh as he spotted me and pointed his wand at my chest, I saw his hate-filled eyes, I remembered the rush I had felt as I quickly apparated home, and recalled the choke as I threw up on my bathroom floor. I still felt the fear, the disgust--both at the Death Eaters and at myself for fleeing. I couldn't forget that feeling of being marked, and in fact it was my very nightmare.

I mentally shook myself to keep the focus off of those old wounds. "And what did you learn?"

Emmeline's touch was cold on my arm. "That I'm never going to just stay in the house again."

I clenched my jaw in silent agreement, vowing to never run again but to stand and fight, as I knew she would do.

"And you Lily, how have you been holding up?"

I shook my head slightly. Emmeline didn't need to be burdened by any of my problems if I could help it. Even Emmeline, with her irrepressible sense of humor, would crack under the strain eventually. _Let me bear the weight. It's the least I can do._

"I... don't know," I answered truthfully.

If only anyone knew.

1.6

I apparated to the roof of the Leaky Cauldron that evening to escape people; their stares, their judgments, their problems, if only for a little while. Emmeline seemed to understand my need to sort things out, and left me alone stating with a twinkle in her eyes that she had seen a nice fellow in the bar and she expected to get him to buy her a drink. I furrowed my eyebrows as I thought about how strange it was that people could just bounce back like that. Or maybe it was all anyone could do to just forget about all their shite for a moment so it wouldn't rule their lives. At the moment, it seemed that I was the only person in the world with the inability to distract myself; jokes and company would only last so long, and then my thoughts, memories, and imagination would consume me. I longed for the hectic regime on school, for the heavy course load I had planned that would keep me absorbed and my mind from fingering the same sore spots over and over, preventing them from healing.

It was peaceful, being up on the rooftop. With only the large expanse of sky stretching for billions of light-years above my head, a refreshingly cool breeze wafting across my cheeks, and the heat-baked roof-tiles pressing warmth into my exposed skin, it was easy to get lost in my thoughts. Which, at times, was a dangerous thing.

Naturally, my thoughts were dwelling on the understandable fear that at any second a shout of alarm would cut into my peace like a knife, followed by that glittering green constellation, and screams. Eventually my thoughts passed over Frank and his experiences, considered how Alice would hold up if Frank died, wondered if Emmeline would be expelled, and finally settled on James Potter. It was an uncharted territory that these musings were leading me into, but I tentatively forged on anyway.

James Potter... I could go nowhere without either catching a glimpse of him or hearing his familiar laugh, could not go one day without someone mentioning him to me. And I found that these revelations were quite comforting. I would always have someone to jest with, banter with, argue with, and, when the occasion was appropriate, flirt with. He had the strange ability to both flatter me and enrage me without cause and, it seemed, effort. I could count on that. In this uncertain time, James Potter was a tremendously needed constant. Even his friends, no matter how trouble making they were, offered lighthearted moments we all so desperately needed.

But these thoughts, as thoughts often seem to do, turned toward the negative and I remembered how angry James had been the night before. Though Sirius seemed, ironically, to be a surprisingly positive influence on his friend, still, the two of them were risk-takers, and I didn't find it hard to imagine that the pair of them would go off and do something stupid. I wondered what I'd do if James weren't there, if he was killed trying to end this madness and I didn't do the same; I wondered how I'd feel if his bright personality in my day disappeared. I suddenly felt deprived and empty, as though some spectral entity like a dementor was sucking all the life out of me. It was heart wrenching, this loss, and unexpected tears welled in my eyes for the hypothetical death of the person I never expected to mourn.

Five minutes later, I appeared, disheveled and slightly out of breath, at James Potter's side. I had found him on one of the huge marble slabs that comprised the entryway stairs into Gringotts. Surprisingly, he was alone, dark eyebrows furrowed in thought. He didn't appear to have noticed me, and I took this time to study him.

Rays of gold, rose, and peach from the sunset were reflected in his glasses and in the depths of his hazel eyes; the breeze, which suddenly picked up in an effort, it seemed, to blow me over, tousled his hair, gently flopping the locks into his eyes. The night before he had been fidgety and nervous; this afternoon his lanky posture emanated complete relaxation, and he was sitting so still now that it was unnatural. It worried me, the possibilities of what he was dwelling on, and I remembered the reason I had run out to talk to him.

"Potter," I said quietly, but with an urgency stemming from my anxiety.

He jerked as I jarred him from his thoughts, and his focus was turned on me so fast it was unnerving. He jumped up and pulled his wand quickly from his back pocket.

"Evans?" he asked, eyes meeting mine and finding the harried look there. "Is everything alright?" He scanned the alleyway, looking for signs, I assumed, of a riot.

I sighed and motioned for him to sit. "Everything's fine. It's okay."

He slowly sunk back onto the steps and I took a seat on the cold marble beside him. He hung his head and rubbed his temple. "I guess it's just the mark of the times," he muttered.

I nodded and pulled my legs up to my chest, encircled them with my arms, and rested my chin atop my knees. As I spoke, I stared off at the sun, which was sinking rapidly behind the rooftops. "Hey, Potter?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me something, would you?"

He shifted his weight so that he was turned toward me and stretched his legs. His right hand went up automatically to his hair while the other mindlessly twirled his wand. "And what's that?"

I paused and kept my eyes on the spot where the sun had been seconds ago. "Just... don't do anything stupid."

He snorted. "Pardon?"

I tossed him a dirty look. "Don't get yourself killed, alright?"

"Well, I don't plan on it. But I do admit I never thought I'd hear you say that."

I was just about to snap at him about how I was being serious, and retract my statement, when I spotted a small grin spreading over his face and realized he was flirting with me.

"I mean it," I said, and shoved him back against the marble step.

"I know," he retorted, and returned the favor. I felt a smile tugging at my lips and opened my mouth to make a witty remark about how he'd most likely blow off his buttocks if he kept his wand in his back pocket, or about his very ungentlemanly conduct of shoving a woman, something, but the words didn't come. So I settled on shaking my head and chuckling at his antics, marveling at how fast he could change his face. He seemed almost to be a different person than the one I had spoken with the night before; this James was not distracted with anger at the moment but was even _playing_ with me. Like the two sides of a coin, he was. Or maybe just a superb actor.

"What're you laughing at?" he asked, looking at me sideways out of the corners of his eyes and fighting to keep a straight face. "What?"

I didn't want to outright tell him that I was _enjoying_ his presence, so I lied. "Oh, just imagining everyone's faces if they saw us--"

He cut me off. "Flirting?"

"Talking civilly," I shot back, trying not to blush.

He cocked his head sideways, considering. "Yeah, I suppose that works too." He lapsed into silence for a moment before chuckling himself. "Yeah... we do have an interesting relationship."

"Hmm..."

Again, another awkward moment. Thankfully, though, one of Gringotts Goblins came and shoed us away on the premise that the bank was closing for the night and, as the Goblin so grumpily informed us, there was "no trespassing past dark!"

I shrugged, and, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth against the blustery wind which, as I was sure to comment, was probably a storm front moving in, we set off down the lane.

We walked around the alley for who-knows how long, generally keeping away from the others and talking every now and then about some random thing or other. The topic of Frank, Emmeline, or other current events never sprang up, but we both knew the other was thinking about it... contemplating what it would mean to loose someone close. As we walked we took each corner wand first, especially around Knockturn alley, and kept up an air of casual vigilance, I guess you could call it. And when James and I separated on the stairs of the inn sometime past midnight, he pulled me into a brief embrace and muttered fiercely into my hair.

"And you bloody well better make sure not to go and get yourself killed, either."


End file.
